Idiocy
by Sir NickolasJhonstonMarcus III
Summary: With the fall of Dras-Leona comes time for reflection. Arya is not pleased when Eragon exposes, under duress, his feelings for her once more. She binds him in a state of friendship, forcing him to forget his love, and fight, emotionally isolated from her until his oath poisons his soul. Prequel to "What More Can I Take?"
1. Chapter 1, Idiocy

**_Truely, I didn't think I'd be publishing so soon. The inspiration just came , and I rode the wave. I hope this is as good as my last._**

**_I present to you, _Idiocy.**

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><p>Frosted night air wafted through Eragon's tent, prickling at the rider's bare flesh. He was lying on his thin cot calmly, with his shirt off. It was the opportune moment to do so; what with the abrupt lack of tension after Dras-Leona fell swiftly to the Varden's iron fist.<p>

Thorn and Murtaugh hadn't been there for the battle. There could be many reasons why they had not appeared to challenge the Varden. Many of those reasons did not raise Eragon's hopes, so he put them out of his mind for the moment. Saphira's draconic head rested comfortably next to Eragon's bedside. One of Eragon's arms hung from the bedside, resting on the boney crest of his soul-partner's snout. Eragon felt excessively troubled as his ponderings became more and more morose. He stroked her scaled muzzle and opened their bond, Saphira_?_

She stirred under his hand, _Eragon?_ Saphira blinked the near-sleep from her eyes, feeling a small bit of irritation until she sampled the tenor of his thoughts. _Little one, whatever is wrong?_

He stared at the billowing of the tented ceiling for a few moments, before he confessed his musings to her. _I...Saphira, I feel that I'm doomed to live alone._

Saphira could feel the cold of his thoughts deep in her belly. She nosed his offered hand gently. _I will always stand by you, Eragon. You will never be alone_

_That's just it though, _he continued, _I-I don't know who will be there to stand with me after this war is finally over. _

Saphira could feel the weight of the words in his mind. She snorted, _Enough of this foolish thinking, Eragon. All of your friends will certainly be there to witness that glorious day when that oath-breaker's head rolls off his shoulders. _

Eragon rubbed Saphira's muzzle with a small smile, and she hummed lightly, content with her lot. Though, it wasn't long before he felt uneasy again. His thoughts strayed into forbidden territory. _Arya_, He thought.

Saphira's contentment dissolved in moments. _Eragon..._

Her thought was one of warning, a plea and admonishment rolled into her unheard voice. Eragon started at her disapproval, but understood it completely. _I'm sorry Saphira, I-I just can't help it. She permeates my mind, I'm...much more taken with her than I should be..._

_Don't think about what can't be moved. Emerald-eyes was quite clear the last time-_

_I know she was, _Eragon forced out, cutting her off before the conversation could open old wounds. Saphira raised her head in surprise, looking at Eragon's prone from on the small cot. His eyes were shut tightly, his eyebrows dipping towards his nose. _I...I know Saphira. Arya was clear as glass. _A pained sigh issued from Eragon. _I know, better than anyone, just _how_ clear she was. _

Saphira glimpsed flashes of the Menoa Tree, Arya, and a harrowing pain that accompanied those memories. _I know she can't be moved on this matter, but neither can I._

Eragon laughed a pained laugh. _I'm hopeless, Saphira. Forget kings, black magic, and impossible odds. They are but a small task compared to loving...and hurting from a distance._

There were two sharp raps against one of the many wooden rods holding his tent up, "Eragon?"

Saphira felt the sharp course of happiness through Eragon, accompanied by a sharp, thorny pain that seemed to twist and writhe inside him. Arya was outside. _Little one…_

_I'll be fine, Saphira, _Eragon thought as he swung his legs over the edge of his bed. "One moment please", He replied as he donned a rough green tunic, and firmly secured the belt of Beloth the Wise and Brisingr around his midriff. He took a quick glance in the mirror, hoping that seeing himself would strengthen his resolve. It did no such thing.

His ears were prominently pointed, turning a light shade of red-pink with the elven ambassador so close by. The muscles of his arms were lean, yet they bulged when he clenched his fists. His shoulders were broad, and his hair hung down in curly waves, nearly brushing his shoulders. The entirety of his physical being was clean, unblemished, unscarred. His own darkened brown eyes gazed back at him from the mirror, filled with the pain he knew too well.

The face that he knew was his own was still so alien to him. He looked like a half-breed; his features being prominently elvish, and yet he was large in stature, and too heavily built...

"Eragon, what's taking you so long?" The irritation of the Elven ambassador was palpable.

He staggered back from the mirror, looking toward the tent door, then back to the mirror, and he shuddered. "Sorry," he weakly apologized as he tore his eyes from the troubled man in his reflection.

Arya could sense his unease as he swiftly exited his tent. He didn't look her in the eye as he began to recite the Elven greeting, but one of Arya's lithe, willowy fingers silenced him. Her irritation had dissolved when she saw his disturbed demeanor. "No formalities, remember? We're friends."

She was disturbed slightly when he didn't smile as per usual. He only nodded, once. She pressed him, "Why aren't you enjoying the festivities being held in Dras-Leona?"

Eragon, glanced up, slightly surprised before answering, "Saphira and I have found parties to be rather...over stimulating, so we decided to enjoy a quiet night together."

Arya instantly knew what he was thinking about. The Blood-Oath Celebration. She shrank a little on the inside with that thought. She studied him for a moment, briefly, and spoke, "Come, walk with me, Eragon."

"Pray-tell, where we're going," he asked, as Arya took his larger hand in one of her own and pulled him along.

"A rather nice place, I think you'll enjoy it," she responded as she pulled him onward.

He hesitated, turning back slightly, "But Saphira..."

_Go, Little One, I'll be here when you return. Find some mental peace with Emerald-Eyes, _Saphira thought in response.

Eragon's will collapsed, and he submitted himself to Arya's constant tugging, moving next to her, rather than lagging behind. "You seem troubled," Arya stated as they walked. The night was just starting to set in.

"I am," Eragon replied, and did not expound on it.

Arya, glanced at him, her eyebrows raised, but he was not looking at her. Arya was confused. What was wrong? Had she insulted him? This feeling of sadness was so unlike him.

"Why aren't you attending the celebrations, Arya?"

She gave a small shrug. "I couldn't find you there."

"Oh," Eragon replied.

They proceeded in silence, the cool night air alighting on the pair like leaves in autumn. A rocky outer crop came into sight, the white light of the moon shining on its exposed jagged edges. The sound of water flowing in a small trickle was heard in the distance. Eragon's gaze was transfixed. "How do you manage to find these places, Arya," He asked in wonder.

"A fair amount of luck and instinct, I suppose," She responded happily. "You like it?"

"Yes," Eragon breathed out, "Yes, Arya, it's beautiful."

"Come on, then. See the world from above." She took his hand and lead him up the jagged steps of broken rock easily and carefully, keeping him from falling as they ascended to the smooth, flat top of the upheaval.

"Look, Eragon," Arya said pointing to lights in the distance. "Dras-Leona is ours."

He nodded. "One step closer to the end."

"What do you hope for, Eragon?" Arya asked, as she sat.

"I hope to one day settle down, to find love and have a family." He said.

"You already have them," Arya said, "Roran, your cousin, and Saphira."

Eragon laughed without humor. "Aye, I wish for Roran's lot any day, though.

"Because he's married?"

"He has love. A wonderful, compassionate, strong woman to love, and she loves him too. I wish for that every night, and every day," Eragon said broodingly.

Arya was afraid, her gut twisting and writhing inside her. He loved her still, she could tell, and it would get him killed if he continued on this way.

"Are you insinuating something?" Arya pried, irritated slightly.

"What do you mean?"

"That you have not found your love yet, and yet you tell me?" Arya's irritation grew to anger.

"Arya, I don't understand, what did I say?" Eragon was frightened. He'd never seen her so angry since his fairith.

"Do you love me?" Arya asked him, sharply.

"Arya, why do you ask?", Eragon pleaded.

"Is it true?" Anger gave her voice a deadly color.

"Arya, please...", Eragon backed to the edge of the small hill, away from Arya's cold fury.

"Tell me Eragon, speak the truth," She demanded.

Eragon's heart faltered, and he dropped to his knees, "Arya Drottningu, I can't lie to you. I love you, I always have even when I try to make... to force myself to stop, I cannot."

"Then you must make me a promise, Eragon." Arya said, her black fury evident in her voice as she turned from him.

"A promise?" He asked, about to inquire further.

"Yes, swear to me, Eragon, in the ancient language, that your affections for me, and your pursuit of my hand shall cease, now and forever. Swear it now," She ordered.

A raging pain ignited in Eragon's bosom, behind his sternum. "Arya, I...I cannot lie..."

Her fiery emerald orbs locked with his own, as she whipped around. "Then let it be known, now and forever, that you Eragon, and your dragon are dead to me."

Those words crippled him even further, his being crushed, and he lay prostrate, nails gouging at the ground. Arya, turned and began to stalk away. "Wait."

"I cannot lie, not in the way you want me to, but you can bind me. You know my name, my true name. I know you know it. Arya, I-I give you permission to use it, but please, don't leave me now. I need our friendship."

_Humble Servant Rider, Hopeful Peace Bringer, The Pure One. _Arya knew his name immediately as he gave her permission. She uttered his name and his body went rigid like water when it turns to ice. What she was about to do was so..._Evil_. She could feel it in her twisting being, such an act. She couldn't believe she was going to do it now. She called on his name again, and his muscles bulged under his skin. "_You will not pursue my hand, nor will you love me, seek me, touch me, nor will your affections for me continue. It will end today, now, this very moment. Any feeling you hold for me will only be the ones of the most simple friendship, anything more is forbidden. We are forever separate, you were never meant to love me. I am too old, and you are too young. I am a princess; an heir to my mother's reign, you are a dragon rider. You are only human, and I am an elf."_

She looked at him, and blanched at the sight with her finished epitaph. Sweat gleamed off his body in the moonlight, his breathing wracked with hollow sounding howls of agony. His limbs shook violently, and suddenly, he was still. His body pitched forward, arms devoid of strength, his face grinding against the smooth stone, she thought him unconscious until she saw his eyes open, and looking at her, empty windows to a hollowed soul.

A terrible ear-splitting screech pierced Arya's skull, forcing her to her knees with its intensity. Her hands clamped tightly around her head, shielding her ears from the sound, and suddenly, Saphira was there. _What...in all of the nameless evils have you done, Arya?_

She looked at Saphira, astute, and as haughty as ever. "It was dangerous, his feelings for me. He gave me permission..." Her brief explanation drowned out, as she felt the hatred emanating from the sapphire dragon.

_May your very long life be filled with sorrow. _Saphira's maw opened, and raw heat lapped at Arya's skin, searing her eyes. She cried out, turning her back to the heat and suddenly it was gone, and Eragon with it.


	2. Chapter 2, Pained

Now this is going to be a pickle to explain... ok, first my computer went bonkers, and I almost lost all the progress I had made on this story. Everything! I slaved for two weeks, to retreive a priceless paragraph that I could never re-create, ever. I'm sorry I took so long, though. Four months is no laughing matter, and a paltry 2,751 words is a poor apology for such lax behavior. I'll try to keep up with regular updates, as often as I can. For those of you who have decided to stick with me, you have my greatest grattitude.

I present to you, Chapter 2, Pained.

~Sir Nickolas

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><p>Saphira 's heart was racing. Now was one of the only legitimate times she had ever felt fear. Eragon had left her care a little sallow, and Saphira now regreted letting him go with Emerald-Eyes. She could not explain the horrific mental screeches that alerted her to her rider's distress. What if it had been the empire, holding out far from the castle walls, ready to strike during the celebrations?<p>

She didn't have the time to think. Eragon was experiencing a vicious agony, unlike any she'd ever known, and suddenly she was there as her rider lay prostrate before the green-eyed elf. When she heard the words in his mind, and his true name... she couldn't believe the depth of this betrayal. Eragon, her rider, her Eragon, her poor little one, was now forcibly bound; his emotions restricted by the words of their closest friend.

She flew slow, with Eragon safe in her talons. He smelled of intense perspiration, and his body, the inside, did not sound right to her draconic ears. His heart was weak, breathing even weaker, and his bowels sounded in storms of angry and sickening gurgles.

Her scales were ruffled, and though she wouldn't admit it as she flew through the night air, she was close to panicking. She was afraid.

Eragon stirred in her talons, mumbling something in delusion. Saphira's nerves were cinched that much tighter. Who would know how to undo this enchantment? Nasuda? Blohdgarm? Angela? Would there be one among the elves?

Saphira dipped down, alighting on her three free limbs. With great care, she rolled Eragon out of her claws onto the cold ground, and curled around his sickly form. His tunic and leggings were soaked to the bone with perspiration, so Saphira extended a wing over him hoping that it would keep him from catching a cold, if he didn't have one already.

That night was the hardest in Saphira's existence. Eragon thrashed in his sleep, crying in delirium. Saphira saw the monsters of his subconscious, and tried to battle them, to sweep them away, but to no avail. Eragon was broken, completely. She reluctantly descended into sleep when she realized that there was nothing she could do for her rider.

It was only fitting that the monsters of Eragon's slumber spilled into her sleep as well.

Arya was still in shock. Eragon's tortured display and the venomous rage of Saphira were...unexpected, to say the least. It was an unpleasant experience, binding Eragon. She didn't know why, but her very being felt marred. She felt as if she had been disemboweled, and given mud to replace what was lost.

She didn't sleep that night.

Eragon's fingers raked deep into the soil under him. Perspiration still poured off him, as he battled and grappled with his mind for dominance. He could feel the wall; a singularly oppressive force in his thoughts. It was indestructible; infallible, and it served only one purpose.

It bound him. It constricted his feelings; his emotions, his desires. It was a shackled collar around his already weak emotional wellbeing. His body felt on fire, his lungs, pumping like bellows, felt as if they would burst. For a moment, a great consciousness touched his mind, and he immediately sought refuge in it. It was fantastically familiar. He could feel the power, and in his mind's eye he knew exactly who it was.

_Saphira..._

_Little one! _The comfort that the mental roar gave was incomprehensible. Eragon's weakened psyche reveled in the vast warm expanse.

_Saphira, what happened?_ Eragon sounded as if he truly didn't know. Saphira's thoughts immediately jumped to her sudden appearance in reaction to Eragon's sudden agony. Arya.

Eragon stiffened, his breath pouring out in a choked whimper. _I cannot feel my body, Saphira. I…I'm bound. I cannot…think. Was I attacked?_

Saphira's mental tone was viciously bitter. _Arya bound you Eragon._

Instant disbelief saturated their bond as Eragon's body writhed under her tented wing. _I…no, she couldn't have-_

_She said you gave her permission._ Saphira bemoaned through their link. His body instantly stilled.

_She…she actually did it. _Eragon's voice was like a winter breeze.

_Eragon?_

_I…I can't believe it. She bound me with my true name. _Eragon's mental tenor went from disbelieving to hysteria.

_Eragon, calm yourself._ But his hysteria only built, and she felt him touch the inside of her wing. When she lifted her shelter from him, she was horrified at the sight. Eragon's body was arced so far off the ground that only his heels and the crown of his head touched the earth.

_She… she never loved me, or-or cared if I was well, she doesn't care _now_! She doesn't care… _The tenor of his thoughts were so thoroughly disturbing that Saphira briefly touched the mind of Angela, about to wake her when the tension drained from Eragon's body, and his mind went silent. She waited briefly, Eragon's face lax in sleep. She felt at ease untill she saw the dip between his eyebrows. She paused briefly as Eragon's jaw opened, and his skin pulled back.

In seconds, his face was arranged in a horrific grimace, his mouth opened. His body expanded and Saphira cowered from the sound that poured fourth.

In a volume her own bugle couldn't match, a song of agony and fierce betrayal came from Eragon's core.

The army of the Varden stirred under the sound. Every soldier roused immediately from comfortable slumber, and frantically prepared for battle. Saphira's head throbbed with every second that it progressed.

One minute; one agonizingly long minute later, Eragon went silent.

Arya wrestled with her bed; an actual _bed_ in a _warm_ castle. The night was waxing long, and no matter how hard she tried to put the events of the evening past out of her mind, she couldn't stop seeing those sad, defeated, brown eyes.

They tormented her continually, telling her what she already knew without words. _You betrayed me. _

Eragon had chosen to stay outside in a tent, arguing that Saphira would wish to share the night of victory with him.

Arya turned away from the windows just as raw vibrations turned them into a spider web of cracks. She sat up, alarmed, as the castle thrummed with an agonized howl. The sound sent chills down her spine. She knew fear for the second time that day, and in an instant left her soft bed, clawing her way out of the castle.

When she finally set foot outside the castle, she could not breathe. Eragon, she knew, was not one for showing of pain or grief to others, besides Saphira, but _his_ inhuman wail saturated the air. She couldn't believe it, the certain mental trauma she heard, so she did not.

The air went silent while she was walking back to her room.

Eragon woke the next morning. His eyes were momentarily dazzled by the blue light until he noticed the spider web of veins in the membrane. He touched it briefly and it billowed, retracting instantly. Saphira's head was right there. Her eyes intently focused on his.

Her pupils were dilated. Eragon could feel the waves of terror coming from her; her very breath coming in shaking pants. Her thoughts were disjointed, scenes of him lying on grassy ground, mixed with a horrific, animalistic roar.

His hand was unsteady as he reached out to her. Her head gradually inched forward until her moist, scaled nostrils were pressed against his wavering, searching fingers. _Eragon… are you… are you sick, injured, tell me please so I can heal you._

_Saphira, tell me, what happened? _Eragon lightly stroked her muzzle. Saphira's head nudged his own, as she scented him.

_You were bound, Little one._ Saphira mentally whispered.

He luched, sitting up. _Galbatorix…_

_Is far away, Little one. _Saphira said, feeling Eragon's anxiety subside with her words. Her eyes flashed passed his shoulders. Her teeth came together with a snap, and she stood. _Be gone!_

_Saphira, what is- _His thought broke off as he saw Arya standing a few meters off. Saphira snarled, and took a step forward, putting Eragon directly under her broad chest, betwixt her forelegs. _Be gone, elf. I did not injure you before, in kindness to my rider. I will not hesitate to do so now._

Arya paid no attention to the dragon as she looked at Eragon. "There was a disturbance in the night," she said tentatively, "would you happen to know what it was?"

Eragon starred, dumbstruck. He couldn't talk, he couldn't think. His body and mind were not…allowing him to. He mentally called out to anyone who would hear him. Saphira curled her tail around his sitting form. "_Meet your binder, Eragon. The elven ambassador, Arya Drottingu._

Her breath hissed between her closed teeth, as she felt his stomach plummet, the air wheezing from his chest as he spoke, "No, it...it can't be true."

_It is, little one. She bound you in the night._ Saphira angrily loosed a swirling cloud of smoke from her nostrils.

In that moment his spirit shattered. He was utterly destroyed, stripped of everything he thought he knew to be true. Arya, his heart song, the one he knew he would die for if needed, despised his advances so thoroughly that she forced his being to change.

His head hung limply forward, his longer hair shading his eyes, when he spoke, his words were without inflection; seemingly bored, "I heard nothing in the night Princess Drottingu. What ever the disturbance was, it did not rouse us."

Arya bristled at his tone, his use of formality, and his blatant miss-information, she _knew _it had been him in the night. Her rebuke died in her throat when she saw that the warm natural brown of his eyes was cold, frosted into a sharp topaz. His eyes were narrowed in a razor-thin glare that pinned her to where she stood. There was a weight of icy anger in his gaze, a cold fury that stunned and surprised her.

His voice was detached, and so cold that her mind quailed at the thought that he could have changed this much in only a few hours, "If that's all, I will be leaving. I have much to do today and little time for anything else," he patted the scaled pillar of her foreleg next to him, "Come Saphira, Nasuda may know more about this disturbance."

Arya couldn't breathe as Eragon swung into the saddle and Saphira, for a brief moment, turned on her barring her needle pointed teeth. She reflexively took a lurch back from the draconic maw. The fearsome teeth vanished, and a scaled tail whipped across her body, throwing her across the fields slick with morning dew. Saphira hated her; undoubtedly, and she knew she deserved it.

As she struggled to get back on her feet, she lurched toward where they had flown. She didn't know why she followed them, it may have been considered certain suicide with Saphira's anger kindled so hotly against her, but she followed. She did not know why she did, but she followed.

Arya's gait was measured and paced as she walked; contemplating the morning's events. She rubbed at her arms, and her sore torso, trying to ward off the gooseflesh that seemed to seize her whole body. The Eragon of yesterday had never been so cold, especially to her. Chills again crawled down her spine with the mental image of his eyes.

Arya had always admired the soft brown that always reflected his kind human soul, and the jaded yellow-black his eyes had become frightened her with it's implications. His face which had always been so kind had worn such a vicious expression of dark anger that it had stunned her. It terrified her to think that such forign anger could appear overnight.

What if that anger grew to hatred, what would Eragon become then?

She didn't dare elaborate on that thought.

Nasuda's command tend stood proudly outside the city gates, overlooking the large plains that seemed to spiral out from the massive trade center of the empire. The flag of the Varden waved confidently in the breeze, anchored to the tallest pole of the tent.

Saphira's lithe size was not able to be confined in the tent any longer, so a quick solution had been formulated. A quick moment with Brisingr permited Saphira's head, and neck to slip through. She was in such a position; her body curled up outside as her neck peaked through the hole. Arya had just begun to approach when Eragon exited through the front tent flap, locking eyes with her.

Saphira's head imediately wrenched itself out of the hole, spines tearing at the material, also locking her eyes with the Elven princess. "I spoke with Nasuda, Princess Drottingu," He began, seemingly bored. "She shares my opinion of what passed in the night."

Saphira hissed at her, ending on a soft growl. Eragon, not missing a beat, climbed into the saddle, cinching down the straps over his legs. Saphira gave one last contemptuous look before rearing back on her hind legs, and stroking down with more than twice the power that was necessary. The gust caught Arya in it's unforgiving hands, sending her stumbling backwards, stealing her balance. As she stumbled, her foot sank into a ridge in the ground, and with very un-elvish grace sent her tumbling painfully to the unforgiving earth. Her heart sank with the firm and complete realization that she had lost her two greatest friends.

The dark complexion of the Varden's head commander entered Arya's vision moments later, and a strong hand was extened towards her, an invitation she readily accepted. Nasuda grunted as she heaved Arya back on her feet. "I'm not particularly interested in why you two are on unfriendly terms," the human warioress began, "But I want it cleared up soon. I've never seen him so cross with anyone, and Saphira; I've never seen her temper raised so."

Arya thought her nerve would fail her when she agreed to right what she had done wrong. It was, at best, a laughable concept. She would free Eragon, and he would still hate her. Her being shuddered as the thought rang through her mind. _Hate_. Did Eragon, in all of his ethreal innocence learn to hate so quickly? Arya desprately hoped not. If he had, then her mark would surely be regarded in the blackest of terms.

In her best facade, she looked Nassuda in the eye and nodded, conjuring something to say as quickly as she could, "It was my fault. I was un-necessarily blunt, and it came across as an insult to them both."

Nassuda's lips came together in a hard line, her eyes searching the refined mask of the elven princess before she sighed. "He's not well, what ever you told him, it affected him and Saphira both deeply."

Arya's gut wrenched, making her feel sick. So his change was not only obvious to her own eyes. "I'll speak with him; did he tell you where he was going?"

Nassuda gazed at Arya for a small moment before nodding. "He went to the chasm; the great canyon a little less than a league from Dras-leona's East wall."

The dark haired elven princess couldn't comprehend why he would visit the canyon, but she knew Eragon would be honest with Nassuda.


	3. Chapter 3, Absence

I hope my absince didn't seem too long, and I hope this chapter doesn't seem too rushed. I present chapter three: Absince.

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><p>Eragon's thoughts were a jumbled, gnarled mess as they flew. Even Saphira, with all her righteous fury, was too timid to open the subject of Arya. Eragon was deeply disturbed, that much was easy to notice, but he did not indicate anything else. He was closed off, barricaded, and she could feel that he would not open to her…yet. That was quite alright with her, for now. He needed space, and she would give him all the space he wanted.<p>

Eragon himself felt as if he was being torn asunder. He felt so _wrong_ talking to Arya in such a curt manner, so coldly, but he couldn't help it. His body would not allow him to be kind to her, and by proxy Saphira had grown malicious. Their closest friend had done the unthinkable, the inconsiderable. She had stooped to Galbatorix's level, binding Eragon with his true name. It was something small; surely Arya meant well; trying to keep them all alive. But the way she so violently recoiled at what he didn't say frightened him. Her temper, something he had rarely, if ever, seen, burst into roaring flame. He didn't understand why a small sentence of his triggered Arya; perhaps if he had been more assured, rather than trying to defend his raging thoughts, maybe he would still be himself, still friends with the Elven princess, still in…

His thoughts broke off suddenly and completely; a thick impenetrable wall clamped down on his mind freezing his limbs, and choking him off. Saphira, barred from his mind, noticed nothing amiss in Eragon's rigid posture. His lungs would not open to the air, neither would the smallest muscle in him twitch. A small startling sense of panic settled in on him; if this is what happened every time his thoughts went wandering about Arya, he was as good as dead on the battlefield.

The same could be said if he couldn't figure how to work his body in the next few minutes. Suffocation seemed like such a lack-luster death for one of the last dragon riders.

He quickly diverted his thoughts; thinking abruptly of his cousin-brother, Roran, and the child that would soon be delivered. In an instant, his body was free. He choked on the air; gasping, clutching to one of the wicked spines on Saphira's back. The dragoness noticed immediately, and quickly slowed, interjecting herself into Eragon's thoughts. She was horrified at Eragon's recent memory of being frozen; it was harrowing for her so much more than it was for him. She didn't even notice his suffering until he had managed to fend it off. It was so very disturbing to her, that he was suffering and could have very well passed and she wouldn't have noticed until they had landed.

Despite Saphira's loud spate of mental agony when she imagined such things; Eragon was stunted, his thoughts violently jarred. His body; his own mind had superseded his will, and thrust him out of control.

His hands shook as they sought solidarity in one of Saphira's many neck spikes. His clenching, sweaty grasp felt strong enough to bend and twist steel. His heart was throbbing loudly behind his ears, and his breathing was too fast; still recovering from a cutoff from the air that granted him life. He didn't understand why the world was vibrating until he realized he was shivering violently.

Being bound this way; bound by his true name, it was horrifically cruel. He had no power over his body. If he chose to think of Arya in any… context above that of a simple friend, would he be seized upon by his oath; bound into unmoving, unthinking silence until he focused on other things?

Immediately, as if by cruel design, he remembered Sloan. In his saddle atop Saphira, he bowed his head against her scaled hide beside his clasped hands, feeling a gaping hole of despair and heart-wrenching guilt claw through him. So this is what it feels like, he realized, to no longer have true freedom in mind and body. It sickened him so thoroughly that he wanted to race to Du'Weldenvarden and break the oath he sealed Sloan to. No being should be tortured by such a potent and effective oath.

A greater possibility occurred to him also. Was it possible that when he had exercised such dominion over the blinded butcher, fate decided to not only revoke his love, but to keep Arya and him together? To torture him every day with what he was no longer allowed to think or believe? It would surely drive him mad, being so close to her, and yet experiencing the torturous mental and physical division.

Eragon wished desperately that he could lean over to the side and vomit; but he was empty, not having eaten since mid-day the day before. Instead he broke into a cold sweat, and the whipping wind made it seem so much colder.

The fanciful future he had imagined with Arya had vanished in a moment. The very future he, himself had fought for was now impossible, lost forever. His love also, was quashed, smothered; suffocating under the oath he had been sworn to. Any love he had felt before, was dissolved, and he could see the truth. Love, he realized, only lead to pain. It had no purpose, no charm, no quality that he could see, now that he was absolved from it.

Love may have been his cause before, but with new eyes he could see it's truth. It was unsubstantial, fleeting, and easily lost. He had been a cat, chasing the flickers of firelight against the wall.

Perhaps she would be happy, after the war, but he wouldn't. Eragon wouldn't stay long in the freed Alagaesia. Maybe he would fulfill his fortune given by Angela, and disappear to a faraway land, never to return. Was there any reason to stay? Roran, surely was a reason; helping to rebuild this broken land could surely be a second, but after that?

As she heard her rider's thoughts, Saphira in her infinite wisdom knew that now would be a time to remain silent.

The canyon wasn't so much a blemish on the land as it was an interruption in the natural beauty. It ran for leagues in each direction; it's sheer rock walls contrasting sharply with the forestry, foliage, and tall grasses that continued right to the edge. It was too deep to see the bottom, even lit by the sun, and it was surely half a league in width. It sat at the very bottom of a small valley, sandwiched between two long furrow-like hills; as if a massive plow had torn through the land.

Saphira would hunt, despite the fact that she had hunted only a day or two previous. Eragon wished for time alone; so she would give it to him; though she wouldn't range far. Eragon had planned to go several days before, for a chance to quietly meditate, and construct a few fairiths of Dras-Leona. _You won't stray from this spot? _Saphira asked tentatively, as she gently began to descend towards the cliff edge.

_Not unless I'm feeling particularly adventurous, h_e lightly teased, with a fragile smile.

Saphira could feel the lead in his heart, however, as her hind legs found purchase in a clearing not nearly big enough for her. She settled in anyways, despite the uncomfortable prodding of the many trees. _Eragon…_

"I'll be fine, Saphira," He said, undoing the leather bindings on his legs, and on the small satchel on her saddle. The four plates of slate clacked and rubbed against each other with the sound of stone, he had prepared them with the many pigments and dyes weeks before.

_I can't help but worry, Little one, you were choking on my very back; and I didn't notice._

Eragon grimaced in responce to her self directed fury and despair.

_I've worked some things out. I doubt… that it will happen again, _His mental reply was frighteningly discontent.

Saphira wanted to work up the courage to say something else; anything else, but nothing came, and she didn't want to irritate Eragon further. _Perhaps, _she thought,_ perhaps I should learn to meditate too._

Eragon laughed. It was a paltry, and forced laugh, but she could sense his mirth as he dismounted with his small bag of stone plates. She nosed his brow as best she could; having to dip her head through branches and horrid tasting leaves to find him. The clearing truly was too small. _I'll be back soon, Little one._

His hand rested softly against her snout for a moment, and she hummed at his touch. "Fly safely, I'll be here when you get back." And he jokingly shoved her nose away. She snorted, purposefully bathing his body in smoke before tearing her head free from the forest, and kicking off and away from the floor.

She roared in exhilaration, heading off across the canyon. Eragon raised his hand in farewell; knowing that she would be safe.

About a league away, a small dark haired elf, winded with the length of her sprint, watched as the sapphire dragon rose into the sky and gradually disappeared into the farther reaches of the forest.


	4. Chapter 4, Friend

Ah, another chapter posted. It didn't have as much emotional zest as I wanted it to, but I found that it fit Eragon's current...(ahem) situation. He's pretty messed up right now, and Arya deffinently deserves whats coming in these next few chapters. She's a difficult one to emulate, but It's getting easier. Suggestions are always welcome, and reviews make each chapter so much more easy to write.

Enjoy~

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><p>She was uneasy; naturally, about going to visit with Eragon at this moment. She knows that it's unwise, and perhaps it may even be dangerous if Eragon is any bit as hostile as Saphira. But she couldn't edge off the creeping dread that settled deep in her being when she had first looked into his eyes that morning.<p>

Had it only just been that morning? It felt as if so much more time had passed; that years had transpired between his soft wooden-brown gaze of yesterday, and the resentful edged amber-topaz glare he had pierced her with this morning. She had to fight off the chills that prickled like gooseflesh on her bare arms.

Arya didn't know why she bothered to come anyway. It could have only been her utter shock at Eragon's abrupt lack of polite familiarity, but she knew better. She was now plagued with a terror that she had turned her only real friend against her. Eragon; her friend, the pure, gentle, righteous human man that looked upon every face with kindness and hope, had stuck her with a gaze more chilling than the depths of the spine.

Through the forest as she ran, tracking the brilliant sapphire in the sky, she had time to reflect, and the thought that she had splintered the comfortable relationship between herself and Eragon weighed heavily on her mind. Arya didn't know what to say. Perhaps she was hoping that she could smooth it over, if just a little bit.

She was hoping he'd still be her friend.

It was a fantasy, she knew, that with a small talk, she could displace his anger, betrayal, and resentment. So once again, as she darted through the trees, she asked herself, why?

It bothered her that she had no real answer to give.

The forest was comfortably large; the great branches and bushels around the massive trees giving birth to wide spaces that were fantastically easy to navigate. It was nothing like the un-charted northern forests of Du'weldenvarden. Nothing like the twisting woven trees that proved difficult for even the most skilled and athletic elves to navigate; nothing like the razor thorns and barely passable spaces.

Arya jogged lightly though the forest wondering why she was going to him; to Eragon. Surely he would liven up, and continue as her friend given enough time. He hadn't offered his feelings since the Blood-oath celebration nearly a year past. Perhaps, he didn't need to.

Eragon, just by existing, was thwarting each argument Arya had offered in defense of staying apart, separate. Day by day, he would prove her arguments a little more wrong; a little more unjustified. The worst part was in the fact that he said nothing about his feelings towards her.

That's it, she realized. He hadn't said anything she could condemn him by; so she forced him into the deadlock. He didn't even _want _to speak of his feelings, and yet, she cornered him and forced him to bear his heart to her. Then she was given the opportunity to twist the situation in any direction she wanted. She chose to expose his feelings, so she could justify her actions when she later bound him. And he accepted it, suggested it, even. How then could he hold ill feelings to her?

She alighted on a small branch just before the too-small clearing that Saphira had landed in. It bore scars of her visit. Claws had gouged bark, branches thick and strong littered the ground. The plants were flattened, and where her scales had rubbed, deep furrows remained. In the disturbed environment, she found footsteps; impressions in tall grass that looked to be the same as a boot. Eragon had wandered towards the canyon edge.

She stooped, treading lightly like a hunter stalking prey, dancing tree to tree. She heard him humming first. It was a sad, discordant tune. He was making it up as he went, she realized, as the melody dipped into a despairing, almost pleading tune.

As she crept closer, she heard the sound of stone plates being shifted, grinding against each other. Her foot slid slightly against a branch, and the tune immediately cut off, leaving the air suddenly empty. "Princess Drottingu?" He asked hesitantly.

Chagrinned with her discovery, she gently dropped to the foliage of the forest floor below, taking a few steps closer, "Eragon, may we speak?"

There was a dreaded silence when he didn't speak for several moments. "Would you mind if I composed my fairiths while we speak?"

She walked around a particularly large tree and there he appeared, sitting calmly, his legs dangling off the edge. "Not at all, I just-"

"-want to speak."

Eragon concluded for her, and continued, "Come, sit, the grass is dry and comfy." He leaned over slightly, as if surveying the depths of the cavern.

Arya took a few hesitant steps towards the edge, and sat a comfortable distance from Eragon. She was about to speak when Eragon said lightly, "Saphira is not fond of you at this moment."

"I know," she replied simply, and Eragon winced.

"She's quite stubborn on things like this, and I don't know the whole story. I remember you-" he broke off, looking quickly at her, and when he found her eyes, looking quickly away, "-binding me, and that we're supposed to be friends," at that, he gave a wry smile.

Arya looked down to the stack of plates between her and Eragon and gasped. One was already completed. The city of Dras-Leona, with Leona lake in the background. Sunlight fell gently on the city and sparkled off the lake in the distance. Saphira was clearly pictured flying above the city, her massive wings and body almost tiny in comparison to the massive walls and tall buildings of the great city.

"Are we still friends, Arya?" There was no inflection behind his voice.

The question broke her focus on Eragon's fairith as she looked up to find his gaze solidly locked on the stone plate he held now. Did he truly believe that she totally dissolved every form of relation between them? "Of course we are friends, Eragon," she said abashedly, "our friendship never ended."

"Oh", he said, as if her statement had depressed him more. It irked her slightly.

"If it's so horrible to be friends, we aren't obligated to remain so", She rebuked him sardonically.

"That's not what I was thinking", Eragon replied quietly, his eyes now closed to the still blank stone plate.

Then she observed the most curious thing. Eragon's mount opened and closed, like he was trying to speak, but couldn't, and after moments of this, words finally began to fall from his lips. "Saphira is very discontent with you at the moment, it will…prove difficult to convince her that you are a friend once again."

His eyes opened again, and he whispered words in the ancient language to the plate. He began shaping his next fairith. When it was finished, and he saw it, he paled suddenly and threw it off the canyon's edge. "Eragon! What-", his haunted expression froze the words in her throat.

"One month", he said, his hands shaking as they sought the next plate, "One month and I will stand against Murtaugh, my brother, and Galbatorix, the mad king. Fate is extremely unkind to me, isn't it Arya?" For the first time since they had spoken, he looked at her.

His eyes were hard as diamond, sharper than Brisingr, hanging from his hip. "I'm destined to die, I can feel it in my bones, Arya. It's like a black sickness within me, I can feel it growing. My visit with Angela is making more and more sense every day. Did I ever tell you about my prophecy-"

His voice cut off abruptly. "Eragon," Arya asked gently, "What prophecy?"

He looked back to his plate, caressing it slightly. "Angela cast my fate with the knucklebones of a dragon."

That surprised her greatly. "Has it come true, Eragon?"

He snorted in laughter, but the mirth was gone from his eyes. "No. I'm thoroughly convinced that it never will either."

"Then why-"

"The bones indicated that a time would come for me to leave Alagaesia forever, and that I would never return."

"You surely don't believe that the bones cast your death, do you?" She pleaded.

He didn't answer her. "Eragon? Eragon, _Brazul_, will you not speak?"

He closed his eyes, almost drifting, and spoke after a few moments of silence. "I wonder what season the void enjoys in a months time."

His binding chains tightened when he saw Arya abruptly erupt in a fit of panic. He couldn't feel anything; not remorse for what he said, sorrow for his fate, or even compassion for the she-elf that had lost her father to the same man he was fated to die against.

He wouldn't feel it now. No, not for her. Never for her.


End file.
